by C J Burright
She hated that the confirmation made her heart hurt a little.
“Happy Monday, Glitter Girl.” Karen bounced in, wearing a white turtleneck, maroon leather skirt and black suede knee-high boots. She lifted her hand for a high-five. “Give it to me.”
Gia slapped her hand. “What are we celebrating?”
“It’s okay, really.” Karen planted her palms on Gia’s desk and leaned in, her expression serious. “You don’t have to pretend.”
Her face heated. Might as well get the humiliation over with. “I was hoping to avoid it until I at least had my morning tea.”
“The tea is on me. Thanks to your unstoppable strength and inhuman resistance to charm, you made me some extra Christmas shopping cash.”
Gia blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“The bets.” Karen pulled an envelope out of the folder beneath her arm and tossed it onto the desk next to her present. “Here’s your cut.” She shook her head. “To be honest, I only bet against O’Connor to back you up. I didn’t actually think you’d win.” Her green eyes sparkled. “You’re a million times stronger than I am, Glitter Girl.”
There has to be a mistake. Maybe Karen’s information sources had gotten it all wrong.
“I’m as surprised as you are that Ian freely fessed up to losing”—Karen leaned a hip against her desk and fiddled with the pencil behind her ear—“especially since there was opportunity and no proof to the contrary. There was, of course, speculation when you both vanished from the party for a while, but I didn’t notice in time and all my little birds were having too much of their own fun to track down either one of you. My witness team failed.” She curled her lip in disgust. “They’ll be punished for that.”
Ian lied. Gia couldn’t speak, unable to wrap her head around it. Why would he lie when the truth would only benefit him? He hated losing, and allowing their co-workers to believe he’d lost at seducing a kiss from her would be a sharp left jab to his male ego. Her pulse made a funny hop. Did he do it for me?
“But when he left with one of the bartenders after the party, I knew you’d won.” Karen straightened and smoothed her sweater. “He never would have gone home with her if he could’ve had you.”
That hop in her heart flatlined.
“Feel free to gloat.” Grinning, Karen waved the file in her hand and turned for the door. “I have more winnings to hand out. See you at break time for tea. My treat.”
Gia leaned back in her chair. Dealing with the consequences of losing the bet to Ian would have been preferable to knowing he’d gone home with someone else Saturday night after he’d danced with her beneath the stars, kissed her until she’d become more intoxicated on him than on margaritas and caressed her with those magic hands of his. Her skin still tingled from his phantom touch.
Scum-sucking lawyer-type. No matter his reasons for lying, she was keeping the bet money.
Needing a mood lifter, she untied the pink ribbon from the present from Mr. Hamilton and lifted the top. A charm bracelet with pink crystals the same color as the ribbon and silver charms rested inside. As always, Hamilton knew how to shop for her.
Gia slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and went to put the lid back on the box. A small, white envelope lay on the bottom, peeking out from beneath the tissue paper. She pulled it free and peeled it open.
A gift certificate. To Heelcandy. A very generous gift certificate to Heelcandy.
The replay from last week of staring into the display window at Heelcandy while feeling blue hit her hard. How Ian had showed up and the loneliness had faded to bearable.
Unable to stop a smile, she slipped the gift certificate back into the envelope and replaced it in the box for the future, when she could afford to find that next, perfect pair of shoes. Carefully, she retied the ribbon and hid the box in her desk, along with her memories of a night beneath the stars in the arms of a man whose every kiss was made of magic.
Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!
Music, Love and Other Miseries:
Every Minute
C.J. Burright
Excerpt
Adara never should’ve made any deathbed promises to her brother. Pebbles cracked like bones beneath her heels as she trudged between the boxwood hedging the country club’s parking lot. If she hadn’t made a sacred vow to accept all social invites from Gia, her brother’s wildly still-alive girlfriend, she wouldn’t be facing the torture of another Hamilton & Associates Belated Yule Celebration…in February. Apparently with prestige and power came the ability to reschedule Christmas.
She slipped between two cars too expensive to breathe on, the glowing mansion lights guiding her. While only a few miles out of town, the country club felt another universe away, especially tonight. Over a year had screamed by in a blur, and it felt like no time had passed since she’d walked this same path—same shoes, same black dress.
Different Adara.
She bit her lip. Nope, not going there. Especially not tonight when she had to cope in public.
The rolling pebbles gave way to smooth courtyard pavestones. Gia waited beside the gurgling center fountain with one hip cocked, cute as always in an eye-burning red sequin-and-chiffon number.
“Halloween was two months ago.” Gia arched one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow. “What happened to classic winter white?”
Adara slogged the last few steps between them. No slinking away now. Gia would send out the SWAT team to track her and was more than willing to take her down at gunpoint. “Black is appropriate for every occasion. Besides, it encompasses all colors.”
“So does a black hole.” Gia batted her spiked lashes, not at all innocent.
“You’re right.” Adara spun back toward her car. “I’ll go home and change.”
“Not even.” Gia lunged and latched onto her arm, bringing a breeze of spicy perfume. “I anticipated your usual wardrobe tragedy and came prepared.” With her free hand, she dug in her clutch and whipped out a strip of shiny material. “Hold still or I’ll smack you.”
Adara reluctantly obeyed while Gia wrapped a festive green and red plaid sash around her waist and cinched it tight, Christmas resurrected two months too late. She resisted cringing when Gia’s scrutiny lifted from the ribbon to her zero-makeup face.
That blonde eyebrow went up again. Faster than any sharp-shooter, Gia popped open a tube of scarlet lipstick and held it to Adara’s mouth like a weapon. “Resistance is futile. Clown or glam, Dar. Your choice.”
Resistance was tempting. A circus look might keep people back. Then again, looking deranged would give people even more reason to talk. Some secrets didn’t need to be shared. She glared as a matter of principle.
“I knew you could be rational.” The makeup session was over in three seconds. Gia smiled, triumphant. “There. You’re perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Adara didn’t bother hiding the snarl in her voice.
“To be out in the world of the living.” The words were teasing but Gia’s tone was gentle, understanding.
A single pang pierced her heart, sharp as any arrow, so fierce it threatened to steal her breath. It was an improvement, though. A year ago, the pain had been nonstop, debilitating. She managed a hoarse whisper. “I never should’ve made that promise to him.”
“As if you had a choice.” Gia snorted, thankfully ignoring her emotional slip. “Joey could’ve persuaded a nun to strip—and she’d be the one paying him. He knew you’d stay in your one-person bubble forever unless he coerced your immortal oath to truly live after he”—her throat worked and her smile wobbled for a second—“after he left.”
Adara focused on the mansion’s pillared entrance. She wanted to think about her brother’s death almost as much as she wanted to be at this party. She cleared her throat and the shadow of sorrow with it. “Truly living equals soirées with stuffed suits using liquid cheer as an excuse for lewd behavior? Dance moves my mind can’t possibly unsee? Dodging covertly placed mistl
etoe and any awaiting tongues?”
“Tonight it does.” Gia looped her arm through Adara’s and tugged her up the brick stairs. “Show me you still know how to smile.”
She bared her teeth.
Gia shuddered. “Forget it. Just look pretty and focus on your goal.”
“I have a goal?” She thought merely showing up was a victory.
“Yep. Be nice.”
“I’m nice.”
“To plants and children, not so much to adult humans.”
Plants and children were easy. They didn’t expect deep conversation or emotional displays. Adara dragged her feet, the mansion close enough to spill hints of the party happening inside. Red and green lights blinked through the windows onto the stone sidewalk, and buzzing chatter filtered free with the occasional laugh. No music yet. Once the band started, she might fake an excuse to leave. Not even General Gia was heartless enough to make her stay and suffer if particular music started playing.
“Cheer up, Dar.” Gia squeezed her arm as she opened the great iron door, freeing a wave of warm air. “Ian will be here.”
Adara almost growled. Ian, the lawyer with the supersonic smile who’d taken advantage of Gia’s grief at last year’s party… Scum-sucking dirtbag shark. “Perfect. I can castrate him for Christmas. It’s never too late for gifts.”
Gia paused in the foyer and stared at her. “Honestly, don’t smile. I like my job. If you give Mr. Hamilton a heart attack, I’ll have to be your teacher’s aide, and you know I’m allergic to chalk and children.”
Closing the door behind them, Adara drew a long breath laced with pine and cinnamon. “Let the fun begin.”
* * * *
Garret dumped his leather jacket over his violin case and straightened his white button-down shirt. He hadn’t even changed after the plane had landed, instead loading his luggage and instruments into a rental, confirming Ian’s obnoxious email invite a second time and heading here, Millionaire Estates. Ian probably thought he’d flake—and maybe he should—but it had been years since they’d met up, years since he’d been home, and performing a few numbers at a postponed holiday work party was the recharge kickoff he needed.
Hushed laughter drifted into the coat room, the intimate sound easing the last travel tension from his shoulders, whispering he’d made the right choice in returning. Not that he doubted his decision… The second he’d stepped onto pavement, energy had buzzed through his boots like lightning. Three years on the overseas concert circuit and its large audience disconnect had stolen a piece of him.
He was home to take it back—with interest.
Tucking his violin and bow beneath one arm, Garret entered the candlelit hallway draped in clove-laced garlands and followed the soft pulse of ’60s music. It had been too long since he’d celebrated Christmas with family or friends, and he didn’t mind rewinding a couple of months, another catch-up on things he’d missed while on tour. This particular bash had been going on for at least an hour, long enough for pleasantly toasted guests to miss any latecomers sliding in for the festivities but not so much that the old-timers had taken off.
He wandered through the double-door entrance and the holiday aura washed through him. People were gathered in talking packs, either standing or sitting, most with a bottle or glass in hand. More danced to the Beach Boys song blasting from unseen speakers. Even with Garret’s height advantage, Ian would be hard to spot. A medley of glitter and glass dazzled from every direction, dominated by a giant tree with twinkling tinsel and obnoxious ornaments, its pine scent a reminder of Christmases past.
Attention on the crowd, searching for a hint of Ian, Garret eased past chatting people and around tables decorated with cinnamon-scented pinecones. He bumped into something and caught his balance just as a giant plastic reindeer nosedived. Tail in the air, it fell at the feet of a woman leaning against the wall, paying homage from the tip of its blinking red nose. For a brief, searing moment, her gaze met his.
The festival of chaos and colors faded into the background, leaving room for only her. She blended with the shadows, as if hoping to vanish with the night. Sorrow haunted her eyes, a thousand notes trapped.
Garret blinked and the moment passed. Ben-zonna. His favorite foreign curse fit the occasion. A thousand notes trapped? That was remarkably sappy, even for him.
No smile, no words, she picked up the glittering Rudolph monstrosity and settled all four twinkling hooves solidly on the floor. Without looking at him again, she resumed watching the other people like they were on a carousel revolving around her, moving too fast to touch.
Anyone who could make his world stand still for even a heartbeat demanded at least an introduction. Keeping his violin protectively close, he eased past the reindeer decoration and mimicked her wallflower pose, barely a foot separating them.
She didn’t acknowledge him, her laser-point focus set on something or someone in the crowd.
Garret followed her gaze and hid a groan. Of course it had to be Ian. His childhood friend mingled with a cluster of women wearing Santa hats and short skirts. All smiles and hands, Ian played his part. Interestingly enough, his glances kept straying to the petite blonde in the red dress another conversation group away.
He leaned slightly in the woman’s direction. “So is it Ian or the blonde in red?”
The barely-there pursing of her generous crimson lips promised she’d heard, and the following silence went on long enough to mark a protest. She sighed softly, not sparing him a glance. “What?”
No matter the impatience threading her tone, her husky voice held a song all its own, low and heady, hitting him straight in the gut. “I was wondering whether you’re plotting to murder Ian or the blonde.” He shrugged. “From the fire and brimstone look you’re sending that way, one of them is going down.”
“Ian’s the only one deserving of a pitchfork stab in sensitive places.” She uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her sides, still not making eye contact. “I’m just watching Gia’s back. And in case you were also wondering, I don’t need a drink, I’m not lonely and I loathe dancing. Any mistletoe I find on your person will be promptly stuffed up your nose.”
He gave a startled laugh. “Duly noted. For the record, I rarely drink, I don’t mind solitude and I keep my dance moves private to prevent public panic. Mistletoe gives me hives, so I’m relatively safe from your anti-vegetation assault.”
Her mouth twitched, a mere tremble and nothing close to a smile, but it was a start.
Before he could turn that tic into a true smile or ask her name, the beach music choked and a snow-haired man in a designer suit climbed the stairs to a stage across the room, presumably the esteemed Mr. Hamilton.
The mystery woman beside him straightened and shifted toward the stage. Apparently, the only way to get her to look at him would be if he was there, on display. He tightened his grip on the violin. Becoming the center of attention was one of his super skills.
Mr. Hamilton launched into a speech about success and the justice system, and Garret tuned him out, riveted on the woman so close. Her hair gleamed like obsidian in the twinkling lights, stopping bluntly at the slender line of her neck. She wasn’t wearing glitter, eyeliner or powder like the other women, which made her crimson lips all the more sinful.
Polite clapping erupted, the only reason he knew the speech had ended. Old man Hamilton departed the stage and Ian stepped aside, the prince waiting to ascend once his king cleared the way.
Some opportunities couldn’t be resisted. Garret tucked his violin beneath his chin and readied the bow. As Ian’s polished shoe hit the first step, Darth Vader’s theme song marched up from his instrument and into the vaulted ceiling, shaking the crowd into a momentary silence. A few brave souls snickered, and he didn’t miss how the woman beside him stiffened. Faces turned his way, but Ian’s response was the one he watched for.
The flip of emotions on his friend’s face was everything he’d hoped for, annoyance to realization to amusement. It took Ian l
ess than a millisecond to target Garret in the shadows. He grabbed the microphone and said in a heavy-breather voice, “If only you knew the power of the dark side.”
Laughter rippled over the crowd, and Garret grinned. Ian hadn’t lost his sense of humor over the last three years, a good sign. Lawyering could strangle happiness until only bitterness and jaded opinions remained.
“I came up here to spread cheer through overpriced and frivolous gifts, but that will have to wait a little while longer.” Ignoring the good-hearted groans, Ian straightened his slouchy elf hat. “Patience, people.”
Garret sawed out a measure of the Jeopardy game show theme. He’d perfected musical harassment decades ago, as his older sister London could attest. It was his best self-defense tactic besides quick reflexes.
Ian pointed threateningly at Garret and flashed one of his trademark smiles, white and brilliant with a bite. “If you’re going to play, get on stage and do it right.”
When he’d accepted Ian’s invitation to the party, he knew companionship and conversation weren’t all that Ian would expect. Ian liked to impress, and with stodgy lawyers who appreciated fine music in their midst, he probably hoped for an edge when it came to earning the coveted partner title. Being friends with an accomplished musician might be the one—Garret drummed his fingers once on his jeans, right at the frayed hole near his pocket—or not. Not everyone at this particular party would appreciate his rendition of Thunderstruck. He didn’t possess the concert musician vibe and his tastes weren’t always geared to Bach and Mozart, as Ian well knew. He’d never quite fit into the classical musician stereotype, not even in the long years he’d focused on the classics. He straightened from the wall. Classical preferences or not, he could make everyone happy.
His intriguing companion folded her arms and shifted at an even sharper angle toward the stage. She still hadn’t looked at him again, as if determined to burn Ian alive with her stare while keeping all intruders—including him, insultingly—outside her personal bubble.
